


it's everything about you

by hcjime



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, POV Oikawa Tooru, isnt a tag but it should be, iwaizumi hajime's smile
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-10-04 09:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17301995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hcjime/pseuds/hcjime
Summary: When Hajime smiles at her, it’s crooked and awkward and kind of cute, in a lost-boy way that only Hajime ever manages to pull off. Tooru’s heart starts beating ridiculously quickly, which is strange. He feels an odd twist in his gut, which is stranger, and the fact that this unfamiliar smile is aimed at some girl and not Tooru makes him uncomfortably angry, which is possibly the strangest of all.[or : iwaizumi has a really cute smile and frankly, it's a huge inconvenience for oikawa]





	1. Chapter 1

It begins with a smile.

Hajime’s been smiling at Tooru for their entire lives, no matter how much he says otherwise. When they were kids and they’d catch bugs together and Tooru would say _look, Hajime, isn’t this fun; look at how big this caterpillar is,_ Hajime would smile open and wide before setting them all free. After they’d picked up volleyball (together, they do everything together; Tooru’s mom always coos about how they’re still a box set), Hajime had thrown him glimmering beams whenever he’d set well. Now, what he gets more than anything is an exasperatedly amused half-grin, but it’s still a smile.

Nothing throws him off as much as a new one, though.

“Oikawa,” Hanamaki drawls lazily as Tooru enters the cafeteria. “Did you hear? Iwaizumi has a secret admirer.”

“It’s not a secret,” Matsukawa disagrees, either not noticing the way Tooru’s body goes ramrod stiff or ignoring it. (Why is he so bothered? Because Hajime’s going to take away all his attention now – that has to be it.) “It’s Shiozaki-san from class 3; she’s planning to confess today.”

“Where’s the man in question, you might ask,” Hanamaki says, and Tooru would be annoyed except that’s exactly what he was going to ask.

“He’s still in class,” Matsukawa sighs wistfully. “She left a note telling him to come to the courtyard, so we have a lovely view from right here.”

“And here he is,” Hanamaki says, pointing at an area just out of earshot with one hand and motioning for Tooru to sit across from him with the other. “Look at him; he’s so awkward.”

“Like a little duckling,” Matsukawa agrees fondly.

“He’s not a duckling. Those are cute; he’s, like, a – stupid ugly animal. A gorilla,” Tooru huffs, finally finding his voice. Matsukawa shoots him a surprised glance.

“He speaks!” he says, tone mockingly surprised. Before Tooru can retort, he gets silenced by both of them. “Shut up and enjoy the show.”

The girl – Shiozaki – is cute, with long dark hair woven into identical plaits and bright golden eyes. Tooru knows her like he knows almost everybody, well enough that they view him in good favor but distantly enough that it stays that way. She’s bright red as she talks to Hajime, holding out a bright pink envelope and a box of chocolates. It’s adorable, and Tooru doesn’t like it.

Hajime takes the chocolates – scratches the back of his neck, a nervous habit – begins to speak. Tooru can’t hear, and he curses his distance.

When Hajime smiles at her, it’s crooked and awkward and kind of cute, in a lost-boy way that only Hajime ever manages to pull off. Tooru’s heart starts beating ridiculously quickly, which is strange. He feels an odd twist in his gut, which is stranger, and the fact that this unfamiliar smile is aimed at some _girl_ and not Tooru makes him uncomfortably angry, which is possibly the strangest of all.

“Did you say yes?” Hanamaki asks too loudly as Hajime sits down next to Tooru.

“You should’ve,” Matsukawa says before Hajime can answer. “She was cute.”

“She was cute,” Tooru agrees, and he sounds oddly dejected, so he ruffles Hajime’s hair before Matsukawa and Hanamaki can send him weird glances. “Way out of your league, Iwa-chan; you might never get a chance like this again.” Hajime turns and snarls at him, reaching for his ear and twisting it. “Imagine if Shiozaki-san knew how ugly you were like this. Would she still like – ouch Iwa-chan stop it that _hurts_ –”

“I said no,” Hajime says, dropping his hand.

“Why?” Tooru asks, in a tone that’s maybe too curious. “I was serious when I said you might never get a chance like this again.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Hajime replies, quickly turning an unflattering shade of scarlet. “I’m just busy with school and volleyball and being your goddamn _babysitter_ –”

“Iwa-chan, don’t flatter me; I shouldn’t be the only reason you don’t pursue the girl of your dreams–”

“I barely knew her name–”

“That’s rude,” Hanamaki says, resting his head on his elbow and leaning forward. “She poured out her heart to you.”

“We’re sixteen; no one has the capacity to pour out their heart yet,” Hajime says, and Matsukawa and Hanamaki are both befuddled into silence. “And you weren’t the only reason; did you listen to anything I said?” Tooru bats his lashes.

“I was a reason, though,” he says, preening just before Hajime slaps him upside the head.

“Hirano-san’s gonna kill you if you try to freak out the first-years today,” Hanamaki says, bored and looking for a change in subject. Tooru rolls his eyes.

“I don’t _try_ to freak people out; they’re just intimidated by perfection,” he says innocently, ignoring Hajime’s muttering of _fucking liar._ “Besides, I know one of them; I played against him when we were in middle school.”

“How do you know he goes here?” Matsukawa asks, and for once he sounds genuinely impressed.

“I saw him in the halls. I never forget a face,” Tooru says proudly. “Just like I’m sure no one ever forgets mine.”

“You ruined it,” Hanamaki says flatly. “I almost respected you for, like, a second, but you ruined it.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Tooru says. The conversation quickly devolves into everyone pointing out various times Tooru’s said something Matsukawa calls questionable and Hanamaki calls disgusting, and all thoughts of Hajime’s smile and cute girls are temporarily forgotten.

(｀O´)

The first practice of the year is always the best – _from your one year of experience,_ Hajime snorts when Tooru voices the thought aloud – partially because it’s fun seeing third years try to look authoritative and partially because it’s fun seeing first years tremble. “So your favorite part,” Hajime says, slowly, “is watching other people in pain.” Tooru just beams. “You have the worst personality.”

“And yet I got four confessions in the past two weeks,” Tooru replies, awaiting the volleyball that Hajime chucks at him just after.

He was right – he does recognize a first year, a thin boy with nice hair named Yahaba who seems oddly calm within the pack of easily intimidated children. Tooru decides he likes him. “He’s gonna be my protégé,” he says conspiratorially to Hajime while Hirano gives his opening speech. “He’s even a setter!”

“Don’t pick favorites already,” Hajime replies, rolling his eyes, though he’s been glancing at a first year with poorly applied eyeliner who looks like he might kill something.

“Ah, you’re right,” Tooru agrees. “What if he opens his mouth and he’s a little asshole?”

“Then you two are a perfect match,” Hajime replies instantly, and he smiles just a little at Tooru’s subsequent yelling. Tooru pretends he doesn’t find it cute.

“You both can do laps with the first years,” Hirano says after the third time he has to whip around and glare at them for talking.

“Aw, captain, go easy on them,” Hanamaki says, though he quickly backtracks when Hirano threatens him with laps too. For some reason, Tooru doesn’t feel too bad about running fifteen laps around the gym. Maybe it’s because he can watch the light leave half the first years’ eyes as they reach lap ten or so. Maybe it’s because he gets time to jog with Yahaba, who thankfully isn’t a little asshole, and begin to talk to him. (Maybe, a tiny, unbidden part of his brain whispers, it’s because he gets to watch Hajime run too, gets to enjoy Hajime’s tiny triumphant grins whenever he passes Tooru before Tooru speeds up to beat him.)

Tooru chalks up his thoughts to whatever weird, lonely mood he’s been in lately and moves on.

After practice, he and Hajime stop by a convenience store to buy milk bread. “I don’t get how you like this shit so much,” Hajime says, scrunching his nose.

“I don’t get how you’re so vulgar all the time,” Tooru replies, popping a piece in his mouth and turning his face upward to the sun. Maybe if he goes outside enough he’ll finally get freckles. He catches Hajime staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” Hajime says, looking away. “Close your mouth when you chew; you’re disgusting.”

They continue walking in companionable silence until Tooru clears his throat. “Hey,” he says. “Were you serious about – not wanting to date and stuff? Or did you just not like her like that?”

Hajime shrugs. “I don’t want to date,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I don’t think I will, unless –” He pauses. “Unless it’s someone I really like. But I didn’t like her like that either.”

“Oh,” Tooru says. “That’s good.” Hajime throws him an odd glance, and he laughs. “I mean, you’re so ugly it’d be a miracle if you ever got to date, so it’s better that you don’t want to.”

Hajime wordlessly shoves his hand into Tooru’s hair and ruffles it so that it gets messed up beyond repair, ignoring Tooru’s complaints all the way home.

(｀O´)

Hanamaki’s been persistent about arm wrestling ever since the second week of their first year, when he’d challenged Hajime and lost in fifteen seconds flat. Since then, he’s gotten admittedly better, working up to almost five minutes before Hajime wins again. Tooru’s come to enjoy the spectacle (for no reason other than it’s fun watching Hanamaki lose, not because when Hajime gets determined he looks kind of really gorgeous and he _does_ have objectively good biceps), but having more than one contender brings it back into the realm of annoying.

“Iwaizumi,” Kyoutani the delinquent first year with bad eyeliner says, with _no honorific,_ how dare he, “I’m gonna beat you.”

Hajime blinks and then he’s grinning, but before he can say anything Tooru steps in front of him. “You don’t get to arm-wrestle him until you address him with respect,” he announces. Kyoutani glares.

“Don’t be an asshole or I’ll call Hirano-san over and tell him you’re bullying the first years again,” Hajime says, elbowing Tooru out of the way.

“He’s the one being an asshole – ” Tooru begins, but when Hajime turns back, his expression is less than merciful.

“You’re a year older,” he says. “Grow up.”

“Scary,” Tooru mutters, pulling up another chair for Kyoutani and leaning back in his own to observe.

It takes twenty six and a half seconds for Kyoutani’s arm to fall flat against the table, and his resulting swear ricochets off the walls of the nearly empty hallway. “That was a good effort,” Hajime says, not even looking smug. “Especially for a first year; I beat Makki in fifteen the first time he tried.”

“I don’t need your pity,” Kyoutani snarls, though it sounds less venomous than his words usually do. Tooru blinks.

“That was a good effort,” he agrees with his most charming smile. Kyoutani stares impassively.

“Shut up, fucking – Plant Hair,” he replies. Tooru gasps, and Hajime, for once, doesn’t laugh at his expense.

“If you wanna arm wrestle me again anytime ever, at least call my best friend by his name,” he says. “He deserves that much.” Kyoutani stares at Hajime – at Tooru – at Hajime again.

“I don’t know,” he says, slowly, “his stupid name.”

“Kyouken-chan,” Tooru says. “I’m disappointed.”

“I don’t care, asshole,” he snaps in reply. “He doesn’t call me my name; why do I have to call him his?” Hajime pinches the bridge of his nose, leaning heavily on the table.

“His name is Oikawa,” he says. “Just call him Oikawa.” Tooru gasps again, though his heart feels warm and his face feels warmer.

“Not even an honorific, Iwa-chan? I’m disappointed in you too; what kind of best friend–”

“Don’t ask for too much,” Hajime replies, and Kyoutani snorts.

“Fine,” he says, shoving his chair forward and standing up. “Shut up, Oikawa.” Tooru resists the urge to roll his eyes. Kyoutani turns to Hajime and points at him. “I’ll beat you,” he warns. “Sometime soon.”

Hajime’s grin is wide and welcoming and Tooru has to wrench his eyes away. “I’ll look forward to it, then,” he says, and even Kyoutani looks stunned for a moment before he turns on his heel and walks away.

(｀O´)

“Iwaizumi’s gotten kind of cool this year,” Hanamaki observes, watching Hajime high-five Watari, their first-year libero and possibly the cutest kid Tooru’s ever seen, after a particularly good receive during practice. “Don’t you think?”

“As cool as someone so drastically lacking in personality and looks can get,” Tooru agrees reluctantly, frowning a little as he sees a smile spread easy and infectious over Hajime’s features. Matsukawa gives him a look. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “We should start practicing or Hirano-san’s gonna make us run suicides again.” They all shudder.

It only takes a few minutes for them to fall back into their regular rhythm – Tooru takes turns setting to Hanamaki and Matsukawa, and every time he says something they can make fun of, they have a field day with it. Tooru sort of wants to call Hajime over, if only because he still feels a little overwhelmed by Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s easy camaraderie, even after a year, but he doesn’t.

“I think all the new kids have a crush on Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki announces after about thirty minutes. “The ones that haven’t quit yet, anyway.” Tooru feels a weird tenseness crawl its way up his spine, curving around his bones and refusing to leave.

“They all have bad taste, then,” he says airily. “Especially if they’re crushing on him and not me.” Matsukawa snorts, and as if on cue, Hajime jogs over.

“I heard him insulting me from all the way across the gym,” he explains with a mock scowl. Tooru scowls back.

“They were just saying all the first years probably have a crush on you,” he says, forcing his voice to remain just as light as it was, “and I was saying if anyone, it should be me they all like so much.”

Hajime frowns, and it’s annoying how cute it is. “I don’t think they like me that much,” he mumbles, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Hanamaki lets out a laugh, startled and disbelieving. Everyone’s eyes turn to him.

“I forgot you were so fucking stupid about this stuff,” he says. “I don’t think Watari’s looked away from you all fucking practice, dude.”

“Language, Makki,” Tooru cuts in, partially to change the subject.

“Fuck,” Hanamaki replies. “Shit.”

“Ass,” Matsukawa adds.

“Bitch,” Hajime contributes. Tooru rolls his eyes – looks away from Hajime’s tiny, cute grin – walks back to the boundary line and begins practicing his serves.

(｀O´)

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru whines. “Come on, it’s the first time it’s airing _live on TV_ –”

“It’s a fucking conspiracy documentary, Oikawa; if you miss it you’ll be better off,” Hajime replies, unimpressed by Tooru’s pout.

“You don’t know what the government’s hiding,” Tooru hisses. “But they _do_ , Iwa-chan; they even said so on the promotional–”

“Fine,” Hajime interrupts. “Fine. Switch the channel.”

Tooru beams as he grabs the remote. A cheesily deep voice starts narrating about aliens and murder or something, and Tooru, uncharacteristically, isn’t paying as much attention as he should. Instead, he’s looking at Hajime, who’s frowning at the television as if it’s said something to personally attack him.

 _He really is cute sometimes,_ Tooru thinks, more observationally than anything else, but it’s still a weird thought to be having about Hajime, of all people, so he turns back to the documentary and tries to focus.

“So remember,” the film says as it draws to an end, “you never know what’s out there – who’s with you or against you. Trust no one and believe nothing they say.” It fades to black.

“That was literally the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen,” Hajime says. He turns to Tooru, who’s trying and failing at looking calm. “Are you – did you really get scared by that?”

“No,” Tooru lies. Hajime grins, small and wonderful, and Tooru’s heart feels as if it’s going to beat out of his chest.

“Okay,” he says, standing up. “I guess I’ll just go home, then.”

“I mean – you might be scared,” Tooru says hastily, tugging on Hajime’s arm. “So I could let you stay here, for your sake. Because I’m such a good friend.” Hajime rolls his eyes and sits back down.

“Thanks, Oikawa,” he says, sarcastically. Tooru just beams.

(｀O´)

Tooru doesn’t know when he began cataloguing Hajime’s smiles, when he learned to differentiate between annoyed and determined and joyous and appreciate all of them, but he finds himself scrolling through his own camera roll and looking at pictures of them in his spare time. He even makes an album of them, lovingly titling it _gorilla-chan (^-^)_ ♡. When he lets himself stop and think about what that might mean, panic quickly sets in.

He’s gay; he knows that much. He’s known since middle school, when kids started asking what kind of girl he liked and he had to come up with a form list of answers because he couldn’t think of a single girl he’s ever liked. He’s had crushes before, on the boy who lives next door and a teammate of his in middle school and a kid he met on vacation in Osaka who helped catch bugs with him.

Hajime doesn’t make him feel that way. He doesn’t get butterflies or nervous headaches, just a deep fondness that curls in his chest and settles there sometimes when Hajime’s brow scrunches up or he smiles widely or he hugs Tooru during horror movies. It’s not the same as a crush, but it’s there, and lately, he’s been feeling something akin to butterflies too.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and then, “shit.”

 _Well,_ he decides, closing his eyes. _Time to repress that until it dies._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’d beat my ass if I lost any more sleep,” Tooru recites. “I know.” He grins, and it sticks awkwardly to his face. “Don’t worry; I’ve just been practicing super hard so we can beat stupid Ushiwaka this time.”
> 
> “Stupid Ushiwaka and his team,” Hajime corrects, still looking worried. “You’re sure you’re all right?” Up close, his eyes are a more vivid green than they look from afar. This is so, so awful. Tooru hates having feelings.

Repression, Tooru realizes as he watches Hajime play catch with Takeru and swallows the knot quickly forming in his throat, isn’t a good tactic for avoidance.

“Oji,” Takeru says (with a frown like saying _Oji_ instead of _Tooru_ physically ails him, because he’s a tiny monster with no sense of respect for his loving uncle), “are you okay? You look sick.” His words get Hajime to look at Tooru, too, head tilted and eyes questioning. Tooru feels like he’s drowning and on fire at the same time, and he realizes that this is maybe the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

He forces a laugh. “I’m fine, Takeru,” he says, rubbing his knuckles against his nephew’s scalp maybe a little too hard. Takeru looks up and sticks his tongue out. “I’ve just been tired lately.” As soon as he says it, he regrets it, because Hajime’s eyes go wide and he’s next to Tooru in a second.

“You haven’t been sleeping enough?” he asks, concerned. “Dumbass, I told you after finals last year–”

“You’d beat my ass if I lost any more sleep,” Tooru recites. “I know.” He grins, and it sticks awkwardly to his face. “Don’t worry; I’ve just been practicing super hard so we can beat stupid Ushiwaka this time.”

“Stupid Ushiwaka and his team,” Hajime corrects, still looking worried. “You’re sure you’re all right?” Up close, his eyes are a more vivid green than they look from afar. This is so, so awful. Tooru hates having feelings.

“I’m fine,” he reassures. He leans back against his fence, spreading his arms against them and ignoring the pricks of pain that come from the edges. “Stop being such a nag.” Hajime opens his mouth like he wants to say something else.

“I wanna play Mario Kart,” Takeru announces before he can, grabbing both of their hands and tugging them inside. “Iwa-san promised he’d kick your ass at it this time.”

“Watch your language,” Tooru admonishes.

“You said it like a _minute_ ago,” Takeru whines, and Hajime snickers.

“Yeah, Oikawa,” he agrees with a stupid, adorable, shit-eating grin plastered to his stupid, adorable face. “Stop being such a hypocrite.” Tooru elbows him, turning back and smiling when Hajime wheezes in surprise.

“I’m sixteen,” he says. “Takeru’s six. I can swear and he can’t.”

“I don’t think either of you should be swearing,” Tooru’s sister, Terumi, says, looking up from her laptop to throw them an amused glance. “I mean, given how often you’re yelling at poor Hajime for being vulgar.” Tooru winces as Hajime’s smile quickly reappears.

“What are you working on, nee-san?” Hajime asks, because he’s always polite to Tooru’s family, even if they’ve grown to be an extension of his own. _He’s so charming sometimes,_ Tooru realizes, horrified. _Oh my god. This is the worst._

“An essay for Asian Lit,” she says, and then, too cheerfully, “it’s due in two days and I just started.”

“You’re an econ major, though,” he says, confused. Terumi stares at him, and her eyes seem almost soulless for a moment. Tooru and Takeru both take a step back.

“Credit requirements,” she says, dully, “are awful and make no sense.” She blinks, and an Oikawa family patented gorgeous grin is back on her face. “Anyway, have fun playing Mario Kart. I’ll join you and kick both your asses when I’m done with this.”

“Mom said she’s gonna kick your asses!” Takeru cheers as they walk away, ignoring Terumi’s warning of _don’t swear again or you’re grounded._

Hajime’s unfairly good at Mario Kart, but Tooru’s had more time to practice with Takeru ( _practice,_ an annoying voice that sounds too much like Matsukawa snickers, _like it’s a sport or something_ ), so their skills even out in the end. After an agonizing match on Rainbow Road, Hajime wins by a margin of a second and a half, and if Tooru were the cheesy type, he’d think Hajime’s beam, proud and beautiful and kind of breathtaking, made losing worth it.

Tooru’s not the cheesy type, though, and he hates losing, so he doesn’t. “Rematch,” he insists, shoving the controller back in Hajime’s hands.

“Don’t be a sore loser,” Hajime replies, passing the controller to Takeru. “Let him play.”

“Fine,” Tooru mutters, because his need to be the best uncle in the world just barely overtakes his need to win. “But after this I’m beating you.”

“After this I’m playing Takeru,” Hajime corrects. “Because that’s how rotations work.” He snorts at Tooru’s obvious rage. “But after that I’ll beat you again.”

“Don’t be so sure, asshole,” Tooru replies with a sharp grin.

“Language,” Takeru crows gleefully.

(｀O´)

“I’m a good senpai,” Tooru mutters as he steels himself to find Kyoutani and convince him to begin attending practice. “I’m responsible. I’m helpful. I’m gonna be captain; I have to learn how to deal with him–”

Hajime raises an eyebrow, pausing in the middle of stretching, his palms flat on the floor. Somehow, despite the fact that his face is literally upside down and red and it should be disgusting, he’s still cute. “He’s really not that bad,” he says.

“To you,” Tooru insists, looking away for a moment. “Because he likes you. He barely knows my _name_.”

“He’s just a kid, like the rest of them,” Hajime replies, and after rolling his eyes, he adds, “you can send Yahaba if you really don’t wanna go; I’m pretty sure he’d do anything you say.” Tooru scowls.

“I can’t take advantage of my protégé like that, Iwa-chan,” he says, touching his toes. (Tooru’s never been quite as flexible as Hajime. He blames it on the fact that Hajime’s always closer to the floor.) “I’m a good senpai, remember?”

“You’re gonna be looking for more than an hour,” Hajime says with a shrug, sitting down and reaching past his feet. “Kyoutani’s pretty good at hiding when he wants to be.”

“How did you even get that information–”

“One of the other first years went to the same school as him,” he explains, scrunching his brow. “Itsuki, I think? He dropped out last week because his grades were falling or something.”

“You’re close to all the first years now, huh,” Tooru says drily, beginning to sink down into a lunge. “That’s nice.” Hajime blinks at him. “Never mind; I’ll–” He sighs. “Yeah, I guess I’ll send Yahaba to find him.”

“Taking advantage of your poor, innocent kouhai like that,” Hanamaki sighs, because of course he and Matsukawa choose to join in now and not when Tooru’s trying to be a good person. “Truly disgraceful.”

“Unforgivable, even,” Matsukawa agrees.

“One could say disgusting.”

“I hate both of you,” Tooru sighs.

“Why doesn’t Iwaizumi just find him?” Hanamaki asks. He cracks his knuckles in a manner Tooru’s definitely sure he’s said is disgusting before. “I mean, if you’re just gonna whine about it. Kyoutani likes him better, anyway.”

“That’s what I _said,_ but–”

“Mizugochi wants me to help out the first years again,” Hajime finishes. “Even though Oikawa would probably be better at it.”

“Because he gets along with them so well,” Tooru says venomously. Hajime grins a small half-grin, the kind where his eyes crinkle slightly and Tooru has to stare at the floor instead of looking at him.

“It’s not my fault I’m nice, Shittykawa,” he says.

“You’re _not,_ though,” Tooru wails. Hanamaki and Matsukawa look at each other and shrug.

“Iwaizumi’s pretty nice,” Matsukawa says. “I’d say he’s, like, a hundred and twenty percent nicer than you. At least.”

“You’re blinded by his dimples,” Tooru hisses, and Hajime touches his cheek self-consciously (adorably). “None of you can see the truth, God. I’m gonna go get Yahaba now.” He stalks over to the first years, ignoring his friends’ snickers behind him.

“Yahaba-kun,” he says with a bright beam. Yahaba hesitantly smiles back. “I’ll need to come up with a nickname. Yah – Yaha-chan?” He wrinkles his nose. “No. We’ll find one later.”

“I really don’t think you need to come up with one at all,” Yahaba replies.

“Of course we do,” Tooru says dismissively. “I really wanted to help you work on accuracy today, but before we can do that, we have to find Kyouken-chan.” Yahaba’s expression turns to momentary – rage, Tooru thinks, which is interesting – before he’s back to a strangely neutral smile.

“He never comes to practice,” he says carefully. “I’m not sure what he could bring to the team.”

“Well, unfortunately,” Tooru replies, turning the wattage of his own smile up as much as possible, “you don’t get to decide who stays and neither do I. He’s talented, just like you.” Yahaba turns a slight crimson, shaking his head. _Interesting,_ Tooru thinks again, though he doesn’t let his expression change. “And it’s our job as a team to bring him up and let those talents grow.”

“He – fine,” Yahaba agrees reluctantly. “I know where he is.”

They find Kyoutani in a secluded corner of the school, crowded by lockers and working on math homework with the ferocity of a murderer. “Kyouken-chan,” Tooru calls, saccharine. “Are you planning to join us for practice?” Kyoutani looks up.

“No,” he says, and then he looks back down at his work.

“What?” Yahaba scoffs. “You’re giving up after three weeks? After you kept bragging about how strong you were, I thought you would’ve made it _at least_ –”

“I’m not giving up,” Kyoutani grunts. He jerks a thumb at Tooru. “I just don’t wanna work with this asshole.” Yahaba looks near murderous, but Tooru throws him a placating glance.

“I understand,” Tooru says, carefully, “that you don’t like me very much.” Kyoutani snorts and begins to say something in return, but Tooru continues before he can. “And I know that sometimes I’m annoying to work with, but I also know that you love volleyball as much as the rest of us. And if you don’t come to practice, you’re not part of the team. You won’t get to play in tournaments; you’re probably gonna be benched for your entire career before giving it up in college if you’ve managed to stick it out through high school. Am I really worth losing that much?”

Kyoutani opens and closes his mouth. “Just think about it,” Tooru says. He shoots him a smile – genuine and open. “I’ll get Iwa-chan to help you with spikes if you end up coming.”

With that, he begins walking back to the gym, a silently fuming Yahaba in tow. “What’s your whole thing with him?” he asks, and Yahaba’s face quickly clears into false confusion.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Oikawa-san,” he says, and Tooru, for some reason, doesn’t feel like pushing it, so they continue walking in silence.

When they arrive at the gym, Hajime turns around in the middle of a conversation with Watari, as if sensing their presence. ( _Wishful thinking,_ Tooru thinks, like he’s been thinking far too often over the past month. _It was a coincidence._ )

“No luck?” he asks, frowning. “Did you at least make a cool speech?”

“The coolest,” Tooru replies, “as expected of the most talented second year on the team.” Something that’s almost a smile but not quite passes over Hajime’s face – a ghost of one, maybe, though it’s quietly comforting nonetheless.

“If Hirano-san hears you bragging one more time he’s gonna make you do five hundred push-ups in front of the team again,” he warns. Tooru bats his eyelashes.

“Hirano-san adores me,” he says. “Just like you, Iwa-chan.”

“No, I don’t,” Hirano calls from a few feet away where he’s practicing with Matsukawa and another third year. “Are you two gonna sit around and flirt or are you helping mentor?” Hajime and Tooru both go red. _Weird,_ Tooru thinks, and then, closing his eyes, _wishful thinking._

He turns around and faces Yahaba, promising himself he’ll go the rest of practice without looking at Hajime.

He lasts two minutes.

(｀O´)

“Um – Oikawa-san?” Yamada, a girl from Class 4, calls, fidgeting with her uniform sleeve with one hand and holding a blushing pink envelope in the other. “Is it okay if I talk to you in private?” Hajime pauses lecturing Tooru about balancing his schedule or something (probably for the best, because Tooru feels his face getting redder and redder the longer he has to make eye contact – he hates this so much) and stares at her for a moment. He looks back at Tooru – at her again – purses his lips.

Tooru glances at him, and he shrugs and shoves him forward with a strange, false type of smile. It sits awkwardly upon his features; he’s never been as good at faking them as Tooru has. “Go talk to her, idiot; I’ll see you at lunch,” he says as he walks away, leaving Tooru feeling as if he’s missing something.

She confesses to him, he thinks. He’s not really listening to what exactly she’s saying because he’s too busy trying to parse the expression on Hajime’s face earlier – the odd, horrible half-grimace half-grin. When Tooru tunes back into their conversation, she’s holding out the letter and a box of chocolates so delicately he’s kind of afraid it’ll explode. “Please think about it!” She bows, and Tooru clears his throat before she can run away.

She’s pretty, with short dark hair and bright eyes and a ridiculously gorgeous smile – _Hajime’s type,_ he realizes with a pang, _that’s why he was so weird; he probably likes her_. “I’m really sorry, Yamada-san,” he says with an apologetic grimace. “I appreciate your honesty and I’m really, really flattered, but I’m too busy with school right now to give you the attention you deserve.” He clasps her hands in his own. “Trust me when I say I would if I could, though, all right?”

She nods, not looking all that bothered. _Odd,_ he thinks before a tiny voice in his head that sounds strangely like Hajime’s yells at him for being so egotistical. “Thank you for listening to me,” she says, handing him the chocolates. “At least accept my gift.” She laughs. “It’s not like I have any use for it now, right?”

When Tooru smiles back, it’s genuine. “Thanks,” he says, and then, “I’m sure they’re delicious.”

“I hope you and Iwaizumi-san enjoy them,” she says, which is really odd, because although he does sit with Hajime during lunch, he sits with Matsukawa and Hanamaki too. She walks away before he can ask why she’d say that.

After what feels like too many classes, Tooru finally arrives at lunch, where Hanamaki and Matsukawa are both gazing intently at him. He pastes on a grin, hoping it’ll cover up his uneasiness well enough. “What?” he asks. “I know I’m hard not to look at, but I thought you guys might have a _chance_ of resisting–”

“I heard Yamada asked you out today,” Hanamaki interrupts, ignoring Tooru’s resulting pout. He blinks owlishly. “Iwaizumi said she might even have a chance of getting you to go out with her, which we both thought was weird.” Tooru glances past him at Hajime, who looks far too interested in his food.

“Why would you think that?” he asks. Hajime shrugs before glancing up at him.

“You were really red when we saw her,” he says. “You looked,” he sighs, “really fucking stupid.”

“I wasn’t red because of – I said no,” Tooru amends hastily, though not smoothly enough to avoid another odd stare from Matsukawa. “And I never look stupid.” Hajime snorts.

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard,” he says.

“We have a whole folder of times you’ve looked like an idiot,” Matsukawa agrees easily, though there’s still something questioning in his eyes.

“I got chocolates, but I’m not gonna share them with you now,” Tooru mutters. “I’ll just give them to Yahaba-kun.”

“You’re the only one here that likes sweets,” Hajime says, unimpressed.

“Hey, no,” Hanamaki protests. “I want chocolate.”

“I’ll give them to Makki and no one else, then,” Tooru announces, partially because he doesn’t want Yamada to be right (but why does he care so much if she is right? It doesn’t matter). Hajime and Matsukawa just glance at each other and shrug, and Hajime laughs in the way that makes his eyes go bright when Tooru screeches indignantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [twt](https://twitter.com/hcjime) ]
> 
> i almost published the end of this fic when i copy pasted it here omfg that wouldve been. bad
> 
> if u liked this maybe leave a comment or a kudos? i reply to everyone bc i love talking to you!
> 
> thank you for reading n i hope u have a lovely day <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, are we listing times they’ve been gay as hell?” Hanamaki asks, leaning back in his seat. If he were allowed to, Tooru’s about three hundred percent sure he’d kick his legs up against the table. “I have a whole notebook–”
> 
> “Why are you cataloguing this information,” Hajime says flatly. Hanamaki winks.
> 
> “You’ll figure it out someday,” he replies with a syrupy smile.

“Ugh,” Hanamaki says.

“Ugh,” Matsukawa agrees, watching Tooru drape his arms over Hajime’s shoulders with a sort of vague interest Tooru doesn’t understand. “Turn the PDA down, please; there are children here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tooru says pointedly, though he does. He’s been even touchier around Hajime lately, taking advantage of every minute before Hajime inevitably finds him out and refuses to talk to him ever again.

“There aren’t children here,” Hajime adds, brows furrowed adorably. “We’re the only ones at this table.”

“There are children on Earth and they shouldn’t have to witness this,” Hanamaki says, and before Hajime can continue arguing, he waves his hand. “It’s okay. We’ll forgive you for this one.”

“And for last week,” Matsukawa adds. “That whole thing with the biceps.” Hajime’s ears flare pink, and Tooru snickers although he’s definitely the one who should be embarrassed here.

“Oh, are we listing times they’ve been gay as hell?” Hanamaki asks, leaning back in his seat. If he were allowed to, Tooru’s about three hundred percent sure he’d kick his legs up against the table. “I have a whole notebook–”

“Why are you cataloguing this information,” Hajime says flatly. Hanamaki winks.

“You’ll figure it out someday,” he replies with a syrupy smile. Hajime’s ears, for some reason, burn even brighter, but he just leans over and picks the bell peppers out of Tooru’s lunch. His body’s warm against Tooru’s, even from the minimal contact – he’s always run hot, serving as a comfortable pillow for Tooru, who often gets so cold Hanamaki proclaims him near-dead.

“Ugh,” Matsukawa repeats, with gusto. Hanamaki nods.

“What?” Tooru asks. “What’s even wrong here?”

“Domestic,” says Hanamaki by way of explanation. He wrinkles his nose. “Ugh.”

“I don’t–” Hajime sighs, untangling himself from Tooru, who pouts partially for show and partially because he really does miss the warmth. He moves his chair a foot farther, dragging his lunchbox to the edge of the table. “Is this better?” he asks, gesturing at the wide berth between them. “Are you happy now?”

Matsukawa looks at Tooru oddly again before he speaks. “No,” he says calmly. Hajime looks like he’s about to scream. “Oikawa looks like a kicked puppy.”

“Like a sad model,” Tooru corrects.

“Annoying,” Hajime mutters, but he moves his chair back and leans into Tooru again anyway. Tooru just beams and hopes desperately that Hajime can’t feel his heartbeat through his shirt.

(｀O´)

“We’re not,” Hajime says, for once in his life looking terrified, “doing team karaoke.”

“Iwa-chan,” says Tooru with a grin so devilish it would make Hanamaki proud. He eyes an ocean keychain hanging off the convenience store’s register rack. “It’s team bonding. Hirano-san even said you can’t opt out.”

“I’m quitting, then,” Hajime replies without missing a beat. He takes a bag of chips – green tea flavored Lays, a choice which strikes Tooru as disgusting and sort of insane. “Have fun without me.”

“How am I gonna be the best setter without my spiker?” Tooru asks forlornly, clinging onto Hajime’s arm and beaming when he catches a small smile. “C’mon, you’re gonna get to see Kyouken-chan sing. That’s fun, right?”

“Who’s forcing him to come?” Hajime asks, momentarily too confused to protest. “Even Hirano-san’s not ready to kick him off.”

“He’s only coming if you come, but Yahaba,” Tooru says cheerfully. “Do you know what’s up with him and Kyouken-chan, by the way?” Hajime blinks, still confused, and for a moment, Tooru mourns the fact that he has a crush on such an idiot.

“There’s something up with them?” he asks.

“There’s – yeah, obviously,” Tooru huffs. “Have you seen the way Yahaba gets around him?” Hajime shrugs.

“Not really,” he says honestly. “He doesn’t come to practice enough for me to see them interact.” Tooru opens and closes his mouth. The cashier glares at both of them, and Hajime hastily hands him his packet of chips and swipes the keychain Tooru was looking at off the rack.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, knocking shoulders with Hajime as they exit the shop, “you got me the keychain I wanted.”

Hajime raises an eyebrow, a small half-smile quirking his lip. The sunlight catches on his lashes, making his eyes look brighter. “I’m aware,” he replies. Tooru sighs.

“I’ll have to pay you back, then,” he says, fishing for money in his pocket and groaning when he comes up with nothing. Hajime snorts.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he says. “It barely cost anything; just keep it.” For some reason, a strange, deep red spreads from his ears to the back of his neck. Tooru chalks it up to the weather, unseasonably hot for mid-May.

“A gift?” he gasps, pressing a hand against his chest. “From someone as stingy as you? Be still, my beating heart.”

“I’m not stingy,” Hajime says gruffly, though there’s a sort of pleased grin sitting warmly on his features. “You just always ask for things that are, like, six billion yen.”

“Six billion–” Tooru squawks before regaining his composure. He bats his lashes. “It’s what I deserve, anyway.” He idly toys with the keychain, admiring the green hues at the bottom. “Iwa-chan,” he says quietly and abruptly a few minutes later. Hajime looks at him, expression stupidly fond in the way it only ever gets with Tooru. “You should become a marine biologist. So I can see the ocean all the time.”

“Then you should become a marine biologist, dumbass,” Hajime says, rolling his eyes.

“I have to play on the national team,” Tooru replies with a beam. He pauses. “But I guess you do, too.”

“Why?” Hajime asks. Tooru sighs, pressing his hand into Hajime’s hair and ruffling the short strands as much as he can. He ignores Hajime’s resulting growl.

“I told you,” he says. “I can’t be the best without you.” His words are softer than he means them to be, and Hajime notices, he thinks, because his eyes go wide and he freezes, if only for a moment. Tooru removes his palm from Hajime’s hair as if it burns him, holding his keychain delicately with his other hand.

“I guess it’s the same for me,” Hajime agrees easily after a moment in the thoughtlessly honest way he sometimes does. Tooru steadfastly ignores the sudden lurching of his heart into his throat, instead smiling so wide his eyes crinkle and he doesn’t have to look at Hajime’s stupid face.

“Wow,” he says, trying and probably failing to hide how genuinely touched he is. “Iwa-chan really does love me after all.”

Hajime just sighs a long-suffering sigh and turns his face away, though Tooru can still catch his smile.

(｀O´)

Team karaoke is so much worse than Tooru could have ever predicted.

He’s not the most gifted vocalist, although he does brag about how amazing he’ll be for the amusement of his teammates (and maybe to see the terror flash through Yahaba’s eyes when he actually begins to sing). In fact, the majority of their team is completely tone deaf, with the surprising exception of Kyoutani, who reluctantly sings a show tune Hajime picks out with a cheery, false devil’s grin he’s definitely picked up from Tooru.

“Kyouken-chan,” Tooru says, eyes wide as he grabs onto Kyoutani and is immediately shoved back into his seat. “You’re _gifted_.”

“Gross,” says Kyoutani. Yahaba’s staring, too, with a frown Tooru parses as equally nonplussed and intrigued. “What?” Kyoutani snaps, and Yahaba’s face quickly switches back to a polite smile.

“I didn’t think you could be good at anything,” he says before turning to speak with Watari. His ears are red.

 _Interesting,_ Tooru thinks, pieces suddenly falling into place. He’ll have to have a conversation with Yahaba later, but right now, Matsukawa and Hanamaki are creating a particularly awful rendition of a ballad from _Titanic_ , so he figures it’s not the best time.

Hajime bumps knees with him companionably. “You’re being quiet,” he says.

“I was talking, like, two minutes ago,” replies Tooru with a grin. “And I’m just appreciating Hanamaki’s gorgeous voice.” Hanamaki shoots him two thumbs up and a wink, and Hajime snorts.

“Two minutes is a long time for your ass to keep quiet,” he replies. Tooru blinks.

“I’m quiet when I need to be,” he says, primly folding his hands in his lap. “I only speak when I have something groundbreaking or hilarious to say.” He shrugs. “It’s not my fault that most of my thoughts are groundbreaking or hilarious.”

“Right,” Hajime says doubtfully. “When you said snakes are just tails with faces–”

“Groundbreaking information,” Tooru insists. He leans forward and taps Hajime’s forehead with his index finger, raising an eyebrow when Hajime’s cheeks turn an odd ruby. “It’s not my fault your mind is too small to comprehend how important that is.”

“I can’t believe you,” Hajime says, his voice suddenly quiet enough that Tooru has to lean in even farther to hear it. He’s wearing one of those exasperated, small smiles – the type that’s impossible to catch unless Tooru’s looking for them. “You’re the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, good,” replies Tooru easily. He slides his eyes back up to the stage, where Watari and Hirano are singing (screaming?) metal. “That means I’m the most something, right? First place is always a win.” He looks back to Hajime and winks. “Though I bet I’m first place at a lot of things in your heart; right, Iwa-chan?”

“Sure,” Hajime agrees. “Most annoying, most clingy, most trashy-”

“So rude,” Tooru says – apparently a little too loudly, because Matsukawa glances at him with an odd expression again. “You win the award for rudest person ever in my heart.”

“I’d be worried if anyone else did,” Hajime replies with an easy, disarming grin. Tooru looks away. His throat feels tight.

“I’m gonna sing again,” he chirps, hopping out of his seat instead of finding a reply. “Any requests? I’ll dedicate it to my bestest friend Iwa-chan.”

“Don’t,” says Hajime flatly, and Tooru just cackles before walking up onstage.

(｀O´)

Saying summer suits Hajime is like saying the sky is blue or the ocean is deep or stars are really fucking cool, but it’s on Tooru’s mind all the time anyway. His skin tans heavily, rich golden-brown fading into a lighter shade where the sleeves of his volleyball uniform end, while Tooru just burns and sweats and looks disgusting. “I can’t let my fans see me like this,” he wails after practice, mostly so that he can theatrically cover his eyes with his hand instead of looking at Hajime and saying something stupid.

“Stop being dramatic,” Hajime sighs, equally exhausted and affectionate. “You look fine.”

“High compliments as always,” Tooru says sarcastically, lifting his hand from his eyes and allowing himself to admire his best friend for just a moment. Hajime rolls his eyes as he takes a seat by Tooru and places a hand on his. Tooru wills away his blush, wondering if he can pass it off as the heat getting to him.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks.

“Oikawa, even with your gross peeling skin and your ugly sweat you’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen and all the girls love you,” Tooru chirps.

“Absolutely not,” Hajime replies immediately.

“So rude,” Tooru sighs. “Yahaba-kun, tell me I’m beautiful.” Yahaba looks over at him from across the gym with an expression between fear and confusion.

“Don’t,” Hajime calls, and Yahaba turns away, relieved. He lightly bumps the back of Tooru’s head with his palm. “Stop using the firs years to boost your ego, asshole; it’s immature.”

“I will when you stop getting Kyouken-chan to challenge you at everything so you look cool,” Tooru replies.

“I _don’t;_ he just really wants to beat me –”

“Disgusting,” Tooru sighs.

“It’s not my fault I’m his favorite,” says Hajime, annoyingly smug in a way he definitely picked up from Tooru. Hajime tilts his head to the side – smiles a self-satisfied, confident smile that makes Tooru’s stomach do backflips.

“Yeah, well,” Tooru huffs, rolling his eyes because he’s not going to look away and make things awkward, “I’m still Yahaba’s favorite, so you can have Kyouken-chan and his dumb hair.”

“Stop insulting the first years,” Hajime says, though his gaze is embarrassingly warm. Tooru just beams so wide his eyes crinkle shut, thinking that maybe summer isn’t so bad after all.

(｀O´)

“Oikawa,” Matsukawa says, eyes narrowed and observant in a way Tooru usually doesn’t see outside of matches. “We should talk.”

“We’re talking right now,” Tooru replies airily. “No need to be dramatic about it.”

“Listen,” Matsukawa continues, for once not taking the opportunity to make fun of Tooru, “if there’s anything you’d want to divulge about your,” he wrinkles his nose, rolling his eyes like whatever he’s about to say next physically pains him, “ _love life_ or whatever the hell, I’m here to listen.”

Tooru beams big and sarcastic. “I’m flattered! Do you want me to tell you about the confessions I got today? One envelope smelled like cherry blossoms, which I think was a nice touch, but it might’ve just been her perfume–”

“You’re disgusting,” Matsukawa interrupts, ignoring Tooru’s shocked gasp. “No, I meant – if,” he says, “you have something to say about a mutual friend of ours, maybe. Perhaps someone you’ve known since childhood. Whose name rhymes with, uh, Diwaizumi.” If Tooru were younger, maybe, or less experienced at hiding whatever this is, he’d have blanched for a millisecond – given himself away. Instead, he offers a blank, practiced smile.

“Iwa-chan’s love life is pretty nonexistent, Mattsun,” he replies, refusing to break eye contact. “And I’m not the best person to go to for information there.”

Matsukawa just levels him a stare, unimpressed and unfooled. “Okay,” he says after a long moment. “But if you want to talk about–” He pauses. “Whatever could happen, hypothetically, in the future, I’m – I wouldn’t be mad at you or hate you for something like that, and neither would he.” Tooru belatedly realizes that him being gay is probably more of a revelatory experience for Matsukawa than him having a crush on his best friend.

“I know,” Tooru replies, letting himself look away for just a moment – letting himself drop all pretenses. It’s Mattsun, after all, and he’s never actually hurt Tooru, despite how much Tooru pretends he does. “I wouldn’t – that’s not why.”

“Okay,” Matsukawa replies, his gaze defaulting back to its usual lazy perceptiveness. “I’m glad.” He pauses. “I’m assuming I’m not allowed to make fun of you about this.”

“You are absolutely not,” says Tooru immediately. Matsukawa quirks his lip up into something that’s almost a smile.

“Not even a little?”

“I’ll tell Makki about how you had a crush on his sister for a year,” Tooru threatens. Matsukawa raises his hands in surrender.

“You _know_ he’d kill me,” he says. Tooru’s smile is saccharine as he bats his eyelashes adorably.

“So keep quiet,” he replies. When they part ways, he feels – relieved, maybe, or just less alone, like something’s been lodged in his chest and just moved its way out. “Ah,” he says to himself, flashing a smile at a girl who passes by and waves. “I guess I really am stupid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: this is going 2 be an iwaoi fic Only. no side pairings allowed im not distracting myself this time  
> me: ...anyway kyouhaba... r cute...
> 
> i jsut. i love them a lot
> 
> anyway if you liked this maybe leave a kudos or a comment? i reply to everyone because i love talking to you!
> 
> as always, thank you for reading and i hope you have a lovely day! ♡


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sounds a lot like a date,” Hanamaki says with a sly grin, and beside him, Matsukawa winces. Tooru laughs, too loud and too bright.
> 
> “Don’t be silly,” he says, smiling so wide his eyes squint shut. “Like I’d ever go on a date with Iwa-chan; I have standards.” He looks back, expecting Hajime to be laughing, but instead, he’s staring at the card. “Iwa-chan?”
> 
> “Yeah,” Hajime agrees with a very obviously false grin. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Hey,” Hajime says as he walks into Tooru’s bedroom without further preamble, tossing Tooru a tiny object of some sort – a charm, maybe, or a keychain. “Look, it reminded me of you.” Tooru finds himself blushing before he even looks at it, though when he does it quickly subsides.

“This is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he says as he inspects the luminescent fish charm, lips gaping wide and scaly fins jutting slightly outward. _Hajime got me a gift,_ a small part of him still sings, but he tamps it down. Hajime raises an eyebrow, stretching his hand outward.

“I can take it back if you want,” he replies. Tooru quickly draws it close to his chest.

“No,” he hisses, maybe too aggressively. He preens just after. “It’s a gift from Iwa-chan, after all, so I guess it’s still worth something even if it does look like trash.” Hajime opens his mouth, looking like he’s about to say something, but he just laughs instead. Tooru has to drag his eyes away.

“You’re trash, so it matches,” Hajime says after a too-long pause, seeming to await the mock-enraged screech Tooru emits. “They had a whole collection in different colors; I was considering getting all of them for you.”

Tooru beams. “That’s a lot of money you’re willing to spend on me,” he says, and Hajime rolls his eyes, cheeks reddening.

“Only to make sure your ego doesn’t get too big and kill all of us, Shittykawa,” he mutters, smiling just a little bit at Tooru’s cackle. “Your laugh is so ugly; I don’t know how girls put up with it.”

“My laugh,” says Tooru, haughtily, “just like the rest of me, is perfect.” Hajime lets out an undignified snort.

“Whatever you want to tell yourself,” he answers, covering a grin with his hand. He tilts his head in thought, and before Tooru can make fun of him for using his brain for once, he adds, “Maybe I’ll get you the rest for your birthday.”

“You can’t tell me what you’re getting me for my birthday,” Tooru says, offended. “That ruins it.”

“Oh, does it?” Hajime asks, raising his brows. “You should tell me what you’re getting me for my birthday to even it out.” Tooru levels him with a flat stare.

“Ha, ha, Iwa-chan,” he says. “Nice try, but you can wait four days.”

“Four days and I’ll be seventeen,” Hajime sighs. The dim orange-pink light of the sunset peeks through Tooru’s bedroom window and softens Hajime’s sharper features, emphasizing his dimples and bright eyes and the slight curve of his lips. He’s so gorgeous Tooru feels guilty for even looking at him, so he turns his eyes away and stares intently at his cuticles.

“Four days,” he agrees instead of making a joke about how _Iwa-chan’s going to be a grandpa soon,_ because for some reason, it doesn’t feel appropriate. “It’s pretty cool, though, right?” Hajime shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he says, his voice oddly small. “Kind of weird thinking we’ll be graduating in, like, a year and a half, right?”

Tooru lightly prods his shoulder with his fist. “A year and a half is a long time from now,” he says with an easy grin. “We don’t have to think about it yet.”

“Yeah,” Hajime agrees, though his forehead is still wrinkled. Tooru wants to reach out and smooth them away with his thumb, but that’s probably a weird thing to do even for them.

“If you’re gonna stay here and say I remind you of ugly fish,” he says instead, grabbing a notebook off his dresser and glancing at the title, “you might as well explain what we’re doing in math to me; I don’t get it at all.” Hajime doesn’t look convinced, but as he starts to explain trigonometric functions he looks far less worried than he did moments before, so Tooru counts it as a win anyway.

(｀O´)

Hajime’s birthday party isn’t a particularly big event – it barely counts as an event, honestly; he just invites the team and a few of his classmates over and they all play video games. Tooru’s family comes too, obviously – Tooru’s pretty sure Watari has a crush on Terumi, which is an issue he’ll have to deal with later.

“We should have cake,” Matsukawa says too loudly after Hanamaki and Hajime have had the controllers for thirty minutes straight, hellbent on proving that they’re the best at whichever first-person shooter they’re playing now. Yahaba and Kyoutani are arguing in low voices about something Tooru doesn’t particularly care about, Watari and Takeru are playing several rounds of rock-paper-scissors in succession (Takeru seems to be winning, judging from Watari’s expression) and the third years are lounged upon the couch, looking incredibly amused.

“We should,” Tooru agrees. “And then we should open presents.”

“You just want to brag about how good yours is,” Hajime says, setting down the controller and walking over to flick Tooru’s forehead.

“And wipe frosting on your face,” he adds cheerfully. “No arguing; it’s tradition.” Hajime, surprisingly, just grins at him in the quiet, dopey way he normally reserves for when he thinks Tooru’s not looking – ruffles his hair, though his grip is softer than it usually is.

“Who says I was gonna argue?” he asks, and Tooru feels kind of breathless – the way he’s been feeling around Hajime a lot lately. When Tooru wipes frosting on Hajime’s face, Hajime gets him back just a minute later, to the cheering of the team and the cooing of their parents. “They still think we’re five,” Hajime mutters conspiratorially after his mother makes them stand together with red and white streaking their faces for eight pictures in a row. Tooru flashes a peace sign as Terumi ushers Takeru toward them for another picture.

“Good,” he replies through his smile. “That means your mom’s never gonna stop spoiling me.” Hajime laughs, full-bodied and as pretty as it’s always been. Distantly, Tooru hears the click of Terumi’s camera – not ideal, since the smile’s dropped off his face and been replaced with a deeply revealing look of awe – but he doesn’t particularly care right now.

“Come on,” Hajime says, tugging on Tooru’s wrist and dragging him toward the pile of presents. “Let’s open these now.” Tooru waves everyone else over, trying not to read too much into the fact that Hajime didn’t bother because Hajime’s never bothered, honestly – even if he doesn’t like Tooru like that (which he doesn’t, Tooru reminds himself, obviously), Tooru’s always been a step above everyone else – something more than the words _best friend_ can convey. If he thinks of it like that, it’s almost enough.

“You look ugly when you’re thinking too hard,” Hajime says, looking vaguely concerned, and Tooru blinks.

“Mean, Iwa-chan,” he says on cue, shaking his head when everyone else laughs. Hajime just clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Open my present first,” Tooru continues, pitching his voice into a whine and elbowing Hajime so hard he wheezes.

“Like I wasn’t going to anyway,” Hajime replies once he’s regained his breath, but he’s smiling again so Tooru’s job is done. He unwraps the poorly covered gift box – beams fondly at the stuffed lizard Tooru bought him, a tradition from when they were five – eyes the envelope just by it.

The card doesn’t say anything too sappy, just talking about how _it’s crazy that I’ve managed to tolerate Iwa-chan for 14 years now, isn’t it; I thought I would’ve snapped and killed you for being so mean to me a while ago_ (Tooru’s pretty sure he hears Hajime mutter _psychopath,_ but like everything he’s done today, it’s laced with fondness) _._ Inside, though, lay two tickets, and the look of childish joy that spreads across Hajime’s face infectious and sunny makes everything worth it. “The amusement park,” he begins, and Tooru beams back.

“Grand opening tickets,” he says. He winks. “For two! I was hoping you and I could go, but if you’ve managed to get a girlfriend who can look past your disappointing face to your slightly less disappointing personality–”

“Stop being an idiot, Stupidkawa; I already said I don’t want a girlfriend,” Hajime replies, looking oddly – shy? Maybe? Whatever it is, it’s not a look Tooru’s used to seeing.

“Sounds a lot like a date,” Hanamaki says with a sly grin, and beside him, Matsukawa winces. Tooru laughs, too loud and too bright.

“Don’t be silly,” he says, smiling so wide his eyes squint shut. “Like I’d ever go on a date with Iwa-chan; I have standards.” He looks back, expecting Hajime to be laughing, but instead, he’s staring at the card. “Iwa-chan?”

“Yeah,” Hajime agrees with a very obviously false grin. “Don’t be stupid.” He clears his throat. “Thanks,” he says, punching Tooru lightly on the shoulder, and then he opens the next gift and enough people are looking away from Tooru that he can finally let the smile drop off his face.

Why is everything he does wrong?                                                                                   

(｀O´)

The amusement park opens in the middle of August, close enough to the end of summer vacation that Tooru probably should begin studying again. “You’re still shit at English,” Hajime reminds him as they wait in line for a ride which claims to be _death-defying._ Tooru sighs.

“Iwa-chan,” he says, patiently, “now is not the time to nag me about school. I don’t know if you’re aware, but there’s this thing called _fun_ people like to have sometimes–”

“Shut up, asshole,” Hajime interrupts. “I know what fun is.” A girl in line is checking one of them out, and Tooru doesn’t like not knowing who it is, so he shifts his position to completely obscure Hajime from her view. She looks away, and he feels an odd twist in his gut.

“Sure you do,” he agrees lightly instead of focusing on it for any longer. He reaches out to pat Hajime’s head.

“I’m not gonna comfort you after you start crying on the ride now,” Hajime says, rolling his eyes.

“I won’t start crying!” Tooru protests. He beams. “I’m afraid of nothing and no one. If anything, I’ll be comforting you.”

“Remember when we were five and you fell into the river and–”

“Twelve years ago,” Tooru snaps. “Let it go.” Hajime just grins, stupidly satisfied, and Tooru tries his hardest to will away the pink spreading over his cheekbones. They continue arguing all the way until they reach the front of the line – during the ride, in between screaming – after, when they go get ice cream. Tooru thinks idly that talking to Hajime like this feels sort of like home before realizing that’s a weird thing to think, even if he does have a crush on him.

 _I like him so much,_ he realizes with a vague ache in his chest as Hajime pays for both of their snacks with an easy smile, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and exhausted. _I like him so much and he’ll never see me like that._

Hajime frowns at him as they find a place to sit. “You’re being too quiet,” he says around a mouthful of ice cream. “Stop it.” Tooru grins, but it’s too fragile; he knows Hajime sees through it.

“I thought you would’ve liked the silence,” he says. He throws up a peace sign. (Has that become a defensive habit? He should probably stop.) “After all, Iwa-chan’s always saying I talk too much for someone with no brain, right?”

“I never mean it, idiot,” Hajime huffs. He frowns, and now Tooru’s made him feel guilty and he really is screwing everything up today.

“I know,” Tooru replies hastily. “I just–” He pauses, unsure of how to finish his sentence without compromising himself. “Never mind.” He smiles – tries his hardest to make it look genuine this time. “Hurry up and finish your food; we’re gonna waste time we can spend going on rides and making you look embarrassing when you’re scared of everything.”

“You say that when you’re the one who almost cried on the gravity one,” Hajime replies, still looking more worried than he should.

“I didn’t almost cry,” Tooru says, feeling the tips of his ears burn bright. Hajime finally grins at him. If Tooru tries hard enough, maybe he can stop feeling altogether and that way when Hajime looks at him like that his brain won’t turn into embarrassing mush.

(｀O´)

“Do you think,” Hajime says after practice one day, something peculiar in his tone as he changes into his regular clothes, “that there’s something going on with Yahaba and Kyoutani?” Tooru blinks at him.

“Yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Obviously. I think we’ve had this discussion before.” Hajime sighs.

“No, I know that; I just meant – I mean, do you think that they like each other?”

“I think it’s very clear that they’re not friends,” Tooru says airily, watching the students in question glaring aggressively as they walk out of the locker room in tandem.

“Obviously I mean romantically, Trashykawa; not even you’re dumb enough to take that the wrong way,” Hajime says. A strange lump lodges itself in Tooru’s throat and for a moment he can’t breathe, let alone speak.

“Um,” he says.                                                                                            

Hajime raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d be the type have a problem with it,” he says, awkwardly attempting to be casual. Tooru grins.

“Obviously not; I was just caught off guard,” he replies. “Iwa-chan’s not usually the type to pick up on romance.” Hajime scowls. “But yeah, I’m pretty sure they – hm.” He pauses. “They either like each other or really, really hate each other. It’s hard to tell.”

“Hm,” Hajime agrees. Outside, Kyoutani and Yahaba are arguing about – something academic, Tooru thinks, and Watari’s trying desperately to stop them. Hajime sighs. “They’re so tiring.”

Tooru closes his locker louder than he needs to – grins. “Don’t tell me you’re becoming an old man already, Iwa-chan; I know you’re a whole month older, but–”

“Shut up,” Hajime interrupts, though his smile is too wide for him to appear genuinely annoyed. “I just – I hope they work things out before next year, or things are going to be really tough for you.”

“Or for you,” Tooru reminds him. All of the second years have agreed that Tooru and Hajime have an equal shot of getting made captain next year – Tooru’s a charismatic leader and good at bringing out the best in his teammates, but Hajime’s presence is more reassuring and he’s far less prone to being overtaken by his emotions.

“For both of us,” Hajime says, and it doesn’t really mean anything but it still feels like a promise. He nudges Tooru’s shoulder. “We’re still gonna be captain and vice.”

Tooru smiles, feeling off-kilter and something deeper than just enamored like he always does around Hajime now. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah. We are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ [twt](https://twitter.com/hcjime) ]
> 
> hi i'd apologize for taking so long to update but honestly ive been busy life has been hard n i have other priorities im proud of myself for even writing this tbh SHFHSDFJH
> 
> anyway !!! the pining Continues. im thinking this might round out to ab 14 chapters instead of 10 since im planning to write them all the way to graduation but we'll see hmm
> 
> if you liked this, maybe leave a kudos or a comment? i reply to everyone bc i love talking to you!
> 
> as always, thank you so much for reading and i hope you have a nice day ♡

**Author's Note:**

> [ [twt](https://twitter.com/hcjime) ]
> 
> happy iwaoi day !!! here's uh.. this
> 
> i wrote another iwaoi fic set in hs awhile ago but i really wanted to write ab seijou's team dynamic (read: all of the underclassmen having a crush on iwaizumi + yahaba/oikawa friendship) so !! here we are
> 
> also this is shaping to be about 30k words by the end which is why i said 10 chapters but that's set to change bc. idk what basic organizational skills are so
> 
> if you liked this, maybe leave a kudos or a comment? i reply to everyone because i love talking to you!!
> 
> thank you for reading, and i hope you have a lovely day ♡


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